


our lives like magnetic fields

by strictlybecca



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance, Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-05 23:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12804666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strictlybecca/pseuds/strictlybecca
Summary: “No, babe,” the man said, his lips quirked into a smile full of affection, his hand going to Agron’s cheek. Agron felt himself pressing into the touch. “My name’s Nasir, I’m your husband.” || a collection of nagron mini-aus & prompt responses





	1. prompt: waking up with amnesia AU

**Author's Note:**

> these will get added as i stumble across them - most of these were originally posted on tumblr @strictlybecca so if they look familiar, then hey, howdy, welcome back to my sphere of existence.

Agron’s vision flickered in and out, and it took him a moment to realize it was because he was blinking rapidly through no real choice of his own. His eyelids felt heavy, but he managed to keep them open long enough for a face to come into view. Agron’s heart thudded in his chest. It was a nice face. Agron still felt blearly and not quite all there, but he felt his hand being taken up in the hands of this nice-faced person and he felt lips being pressed to his fingertips. Agron thought he might be smiling, but the morphine was making it hard to handle his own facial muscles.

“Agron,” the voice that came out of the nice face said, “God, I’m so glad you’re awake.” Agron agreed with this sentiment wholeheartedly, especially if it meant that this beautiful human continued to hold his hand and be nearby. “Do you want something to drink?” Agron nodded as best he could and the man held a straw up to his lips with a seriousness more appropriately suited to carrying out a military mission. Agron took his chance to stare up at the man – he looked tired, but there was no mistaking how incredibly beautiful he was, with his dark eyes, and perfect nose, and hair that Agron wanted to bury his face in.

“Are you – are – did the doctor send you?” Agron asked once the straw had been pulled away, his voice hoarse. Did the man work here? Would Agron get to keep seeing him? The man started for a moment, looking worried, before the anxious look faded into a soft smile.

“The doctor said you might be a little groggy and confused,” the man said – which didn’t answer the question.

“Are you a model?” Agron asked, blinking again. “You are just the hottest man I’ve ever seen.” The man’s lips quirked into a smile. “Just like, damn. Are you – will you – are you a doctor?”

“No, babe,” the man said, his lips quirked into a smile full of affection, his hand going to Agron’s cheek. Agron felt himself pressing into the touch. “My name’s Nasir, I’m your husband.” Agron felt his eyes widen and his mouth drop open.

“My husband?” Agron asked incredulously, coughing a little. “You married _me_?“ There was a long pause. ” _Fuck_ ,” he said with feeling. Nasir laughed and Agron stared in awe – Nasir was even prettier when he was laughing. “Fuck, are you sure?” Nasir snorted, brushing a little of Agron’s hair out of his eyes. Agron did his best to catch Nasir’s hand with his, but only managed to clumsily pat it. Fortunately, Nasir caught on and held Agron’s hand in his, squeezing gently.

“I’m sure,” Nasir said, shifting to sit on the edge of Agron’s hospital bed. “You’re stuck with me.” Agron was not at all bothered by that thought – Nasir was _amazing_.

“Fuck,” Agron said feelingly again. “Fuck, I am so lucky, you are the most gorgeous fuckin’ – I’m just – c’mere for a second.” Nasir leaned closer, hovering over where Agron lay in bed, and Agron drank his fill again, wanting to taste Nasir’s soft smile. He made a noise in his throat and Nasir must’ve understood because he leant forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Agron’s mouth.

“You’re pretty handsome too, y’know,” Nasir murmured and Agron immediately shook his head.

“Not like you, s’not like you, you’re just…” Agron blinked again. “Can I see your butt?” Nasir cracked up and Agron widened his eyes, “Please, I bet you have the nicest butt.”

“Not til you’re out of the hospital,” Nasir said, still laughing, “Then you can even touch my butt. Along with the rest of me.” Agron’s mouth dropped open again. Getting to touch Nasir? Seriously, Agron couldn’t really remember why he’d had surgery in the first place, but whatever the fuck it was, thank fucking god because Agron couldn’t imagine being a luckier guy.

“You’re married to me,” Agron said again, liking the sound of it aloud. Nasir nodded. “Which means you’re gonna be here when I wake up, right?” Nasir nodded again, his smile gentling into something wholly fond and adoring.

“I promise. You rest now, babe, I’ll be here the whole time.” Agron thought that sounded pretty good, so he squeezed the hand that was tangled with his own and let himself drift back off to sleep, comforted by the knowledge that he had the hottest husband ever who was gonna let him touch his butt soon.


	2. prompt: teacher/single parent AU

“I appreciate you coming to this meeting, Mr. Schmidt,” the principal was saying as Nasir slid into the room, already wincing at his lateness – he was pretty sure there was still paint down one of his forearms thanks to his excited eighth graders and about ten pens stuck into the messy bun on top of his head, but he hadn’t paused to wash up on his way over from his last period of working on creative projects. “I’m sure you understand why we’re concerned about Abigail.”

Mr. Schmidt’s face was set in an expression that Nasir would have described as a thundercloud. He was tense in his chair and Nasir had to fight the urge to lay a hand against an arm in comfort. For some reason that Nasir had yet to identify, the principal and the vice principal were both here for this meeting. 

Abigail Schmidt’s fight with Jonah Henderson was not really worth the inquisition. Definitely a conversation with Mr. Schmidt, but not what was looking like a full-fledged trial. The Hendersons were an important family in the town, to be sure, but this was a little overkill.

“I’m Nasir Hakim,” Nasir said as he slipped into the chair beside Agron, “I’m Abigail’s homeroom teacher.” Mr. Schmidt’s face cycled through several different expressions before settling into a small smile, dimples and all. Nasir couldn’t help but be charmed.

“Agron Schmidt, Abigail’s uncle. Abigail talks about you a lot,” Agron said, shaking Nasir’s hand firmly and letting go with a lingering touch. “She likes you.”

Nasir felt his face heat as he curled his fingers back over his palm, smiling back a little helplessly. “Well, that’s good to hear. I like her a lot too. And-” Nasir glanced at the principal and the vice principal who were murmuring to one another in a distinctly shady fashion. “Well, I was there for the fight and this wasn’t all Abigail’s fault. I’ll make sure this gets sorted out fairly.”

Agron’s small smile turned into a full-fledged beam and Nasir was glad he was sitting down as he felt his knees give out a little. “Well, then,” Agron said quietly, “I might owe you a cup of coffee then.” His fingers grazed the drying paint on the back of Nasir’s left hand and Nasir grinned.

“You might just,” he agreed.


	3. prompt: two miserable people meeting at a wedding AU

“This is sickening,” Nasir muttered, idly playing with the rim of the empty wine glass beside the stack of excessively fancy china plates before him. He considered for a split second just how much money the china alone had cost to rent for this obscenely overdone wedding, before the idea overwhelmed him so thoroughly - his own apartment consisting of mostly a mattress and some stale cereal - that he had to remove his hands from the glassware and fold them carefully in his lap.

“You’re harshing the mood Nasir,” Naevia said, flicking at his ear even as she maintained a beatific smile in the general direction of the wedding party. “I invited you as my plus one so I wouldn’t have to be bored all night but I might as well have brought in our dying cactus for the same amount of entertainment. Go dance or something,” she added, dismissing him with a wave. “Find a cute guy.”

“I came as a favor to you!” Nasir hissed in response, scraping his chair back loudly in an awkward attempt to free himself of the layers of tablecloth and napkin and chair cover. “You whined to me for a whole week before I said yes!”

“And now I’m telling you to go away,” she said, eyeing one of the men in the wedding party with interest – his was built like an ox and looked just about as pissed as Nasir to be here, so Nasir couldn’t fault her on her taste. “Be elsewhere. Please.”

Nasir left Naevia to her unsubtle eyefucking – which seemed to be working, if the ox-shaped man’s inability to look away from her meant anything – and headed for the buffet line, sliding in right behind two towering figures who seemed to be bickering.

“I can’t believe you made me come to this, Duro,” the taller of the two snapped quietly, loading up his entire plate with a nice solid foundation of garlic bread, on top of which he piled various kinds of chicken and pasta. “We hardly knew this guy from high school, and now we’re stuck here until Saxa’s done with work.”

“Agron, just shut up and just enjoy the free food,” the man Nasir assumed was Duro said, before shoving about fifteen grapes into his mouth. “Y’r jst mad you avn’t seen n’y hot guys yet,” he said around two cheeks filled like a chipmunk’s.

Nasir eyed the taller of the two with somewhat more interest now that he knew that he was at least slightly dude-inclined, if not strictly dick-ly. And,  _well_. Nasir was now mildly more likely to forgive Naevia for bringing him here. Agron was built like a brick shithouse, if brick shithouses were built like skyscrapers and featuring stupidly cute dimples.

“There was one guy,” Agron muttered, adding another layer of starch and meat to his plate, which was looking like it might crack under the pressure of the amount of food he was piling on it. “Seriously hot, long hair in a bun, but he was here with a girl, so.“

"You mean the guy behind us in the buffet line who’s been staring at your arms like they’re water and he’s in a desert?”

Nasir froze with a piece of garlic bread halfway to his mouth and Agron’s eyes widened as he stared down first at Duro before sliding his agonized gaze slowly to Nasir. Duro, who now Nasir was coming to understand as a truly terrible human being who delighted in the embarrassment of others, simply snickered and slid past Agron to move towards the dessert end of the line. Nasir set his garlic bread back down on his plate with a delicacy appropriate for brain surgery.

“Hi,” Agron said, looking painfully embarrassed. “Sorry, I just - I, you were - uh, my brother was just-”

“She’s my best friend,” Nasir blurted out, somehow intensely aware of how his plate held a stupid amount of deviled eggs and hardly anything else. “Uh, the girl, she’s just a friend. I’m Nasir. I was just-” he trailed off a little helplessly - but Agron had started grinning down at him and Nasir found that he was now helpless to do anything but smile back. “This is a really fucking dumb wedding,” Nasir ventured, sliding a half step closer to Agron, who huffed out a laugh in response.

“Yeah,” he said, quirking his lips and allowing those stupidly cute dimples to appear again. “But I think it’s gonna get way better really soon.”


	4. prompt: human&android AU

The A-GRN model is supposed to be a pack horse of sorts - suitable for backbreaking, labor-intensive jobs, where the physical limits of humans are no longer tolerated and their physical labor no longer worth paying for. Droids do it better, faster, longer, say the commercials - and they don’t have unions. 

The A-GRN model is supposed to just be an investment for the bar,  _Vesuvius_  - a droid to carry the shipments of liquor in from the street, an extra bouncer on the nights there’s no one to work the door. Glaber buys it to be nothing more than a machine and that’s how they’re all supposed to treat it - at least, that’s what Nasir is told.

What the A-GRN model is  _not_  supposed to do is smile at Nasir the way it does. It’s not supposed to seem almost human in the way that it reacts to Gannicus’ antics and Saxa’s poor customer skills and Crixus’ terrible DJing with laughter. (Nasir wonders why they bothered giving a droid dimples.) The A-GRN unit isn’t supposed to do any of those things - at least, Nasir’s pretty sure the user manual says so.

“A-GRN,” Nasir addresses it finally one night, scowl on his face, preparing to send it off to do some task that will mean Nasir won’t have to mentally sigh over its biceps anymore. “A-GRN, please go-”

“Please,” it interrupts, its voice deeper than Nasir anticipated. The droid smiles. “Call me Agron.”


	5. prompt: frat!AU verse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is set in a verse called [fraternitas](http://archiveofourown.org/series/57384) that i have explored pretty significantly before in such works as [red solo cup](http://archiveofourown.org/works/601956) and [this is our house](http://archiveofourown.org/works/976470) so please feel free to check those out in order to enjoy this bit a little more.

“Is that dudebro lost?” snarked a voice from the group of students sitting behind Nasir in the lecture hall, the words carrying enough even over the sounds of everyone packing up to leave that Nasir’s glance flicked towards the doorway of the room in curiosity - Agron, resplendent in his perpetually torn jeans, floppy sandals, SigZ tank complete with mysterious stain, and backwards baseball cap, waited patiently just outside the doors of the lecture hall, presumably meaning to walk Nasir to his next class. “Surely he’s missing a lecture on the value of keg stands as social commentary in our modern era or something. What’s he even fucking doing at this school anyway?”

Nasir felt a suddenly tsunami of rage the likes of which he’d never contended with before - his boyfriend was  _absolutely_  a dudebro, but only Nasir was allowed to tease him about it - not a smug ass Literature major whose obsession with boring old white dudes writing about their boring ass white dude whining made him little more than a pretentious-ass fuck not worth anybody’s time.

Nasir whirled on them, teeth bared in a snarl, “If you fucking look at my boyfriend wrong again, I’ll shove your Hemingway so far up your ass you won’t be able to jerk off over it anymore.” When the only response he received was silence and wide eyed stares, Nasir gracefully retrieved his laptop and bag from his desk and sailed down the aisle of the hall and through the doors, collecting a kiss and the hand of his dudebro boyfriend proudly as they started off towards his next class.

Nasir glanced down for a split second and grimaced. Those sandals  _were_  awful though.


	6. prompt: taking a bath together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka that long distance AU i never actually wrote

“Cat was not pleased when I locked him out,” Agron said, crossing to the tub where Nasir was already waiting, hair piled messily in a bun on top of his head, eyelids drifting shut - Agron allowed himself a long moment just to admire the gorgeous picture his boyfriend made, before realizing he was  _totally_  allowed to put his hands all over that. "Move it or lose it,“ Agron instructed a split second later, tugging his shirt over his head and mindlessly kicking off his boxers with little finesse.

"Cat’s just gonna have to deal with sharing you now that I’m in town,” Nasir murmured, already half melted in relaxation, even as he scooted forward to allow Agron to slide in behind him, the steaming water sloshing slightly as it was displaced by Agron’s less-than-graceful entry into the tub. Agron wasted no time in tugging Nasir against him, his back pressed to Agron’s chest, their hands tangled together where they sat on Nasir’s belly. “I claimed you first.”

“You’ve got priority,” Agron agreed, burying his nose in Nasir’s hair, letting the stress of the past few Nasir-less months seep out of him as they curled close, reveling in the fact that Nasir was his and his alone for the next few weeks. “I’ll remind him later." 


	7. prompt: sex shop!AU

“Meathead newbie, two o'clock,” Saxa muttered underneath her breath as the bell above the front door jingled, bashing a roll of quarters against the register drawer with a viciousness that always surprised people (not Nasir, he knew better by now), “Ten bucks he heads for the busty blonde schoolgirl vids. Or the novelty condoms.”

Nasir didn’t even look up from his crossword, pencil tucked into his bun, pushing his glasses absentmindedly up onto his nose, “No deal Sax,” he murmured, “You have a sixth sense about these things, I’m not gonna lose ten bucks on a dude obsessed with his own-” Nasir’s gaze lifted from his newspaper to spot the absolutely  _gorgeous_ man walking the aisles of the tiny sex shop, peering up at DVDs with curiosity and not much embarrassment.

“Well,” Saxa murmured a moment later, as the man ducked down the last aisle and started browsing with intent among the dick-focused DVDs and sex toys, everything covered with men in various throes of ecstasy. “Guess I got that one wrong.”

“Thank fucking god,” Nasir murmured, slapping his crossword down on the counter and calling, “Don’t wait up,” over his shoulder as he headed for the beautiful customer. “I’ve got this.”


	8. prompt: winter olympics!AUs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there's two at once in this one - my friends knew how much i fucking LOVE the olympics (especially winter) so during the 2014 ones i got prompted first for ice skating and then snow boarding.

  * ice skating AU



“Not bad,” Nasir leaned forward and murmured as Agron stepped carefully past the steps of the small bench area reserved for the Syrian figure skaters, decked out in red, white and black banners and flags - he’d already stumbled on the steps of the German bench a day ago and wasn’t  _that_  replay just going to follow him around for the rest of his Olympic life, instead of the triple axel he’d thrown and landed minutes before. “A little wobbly on the twizzle.”

“I’ll wobble your twizzle,” Agron grunted, more out of a desire to make Nasir laugh than any real grumble, pausing for a moment to rest a hand on the railing in front of the bench and knowing that there were cameras honing in on his and Nasir’s every interaction.

Nasir  _did_  laugh, leaning over to the railing so his knuckles brushed Agron’s, “My twizzle? Here?” Nasir’s pinky tangled briefly with Agron’s. “You promise?” His smile was hot with wicked delight.

Agron dimpled, beaming back, not even caring what sort of rude things Jonny Weir was probably saying about his routine or costume or parentage or whatever. “Only if you medal,” Agron retorted, before striding off for his own bench, knowing Nasir’s eyes were following him the whole way.

* * *

 

  * snow boarding AU



Nasir is waiting for him at the bottom of the hill after his run, perched idly on the padded barrier between the agony wall - the spot where the boarders have to wait to receive their scores instead of sitting down like normal people - and the spectators. Agron only caught the tail end of Nasir’s run a few minutes earlier when he was waiting for his own turn, but he knows it was definitely medal-solid - and by the smug grin on Nasir’s face, he knows it too.

Nasir’s wearing the dumb beanie Agron gave to him last night for luck (and because he gets the worst fucking helmet hair and looks like such an idiot for hours afterwards) and Agron gently knocks him upside the head with a clumsy mittened hand after clicking out of his board and waving to the crowd cheerfully.

“You know they only call you a big air specialist because of how high off the ground you have to get to clear that giant frame of yours,” Nasir says the second Agron draws close enough to hear him without shouting over the spectators, his dark eyes dancing even as he thuds a solid approving punch to Agron’s shoulder - Agron knows that means he fucking nailed his run.

“My air’s not the only thing that’s big,” Agron says, waggling his eyebrows and dimpling hard, avoiding Nasir’s retaliatory headslap with ease - seconds later, the cameras swoop in to catch their immature mitten slap fight, both of them laughing. The only thing the cameras don’t see is Nasir’s mouth, shaping the words  _I know_  with wicked intent and Agron knows that, gold medal or not, tonight’s gonna be real fun. 


	9. prompt: saccharine pastoral goat farm fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the wake of the show finishing, i got some seriously excellent prompts for happy stuff. this was one of them.

“They are loud,” is all Agron says as he stands among the small herd of young goats, bleating and wobbling around as if they have had too much new wine. A few of them butt against Agron’s legs, and he eyes them with a furrowed brow – an expression that Nasir could possibly parse into meaning if he were so inclined.

“And that is something altogether too new for you?” he calls instead, his lips twisted into a teasing smile, remembering nights of Agron and Saxa and Lugo singing and drinking with fondness but with a deep, unfailing ache that he knows may never fade. He lets out a shaky breath and instead squints his eyes to catch Agron’s gaze. Agron’s wrinkled face in response makes it clear that he finds Nasir funny not at all.

Nasir disagrees, but he hops off the fence where he is perched and crosses to Agron’s side, collecting one of the smaller goats that seems to have dizzied itself from running in circles and chose instead to collapse to the ground, bleating feebly. Nasir settles it in his arms and presses close to Agron, who settles a warm, heavy arm across Nasir’s shoulders, nose wrinkling.

“You are sure?” is all he says a moment later, and Nasir ducks his head slightly to hide his grin behind a curtain of hair, left loose at Agron’s request.

“They have already become fond of you,” Nasir replies, lifting the particularly foolish goat to Agron’s face so that Agron’s eyes need to cross in order to see it. The goat bleats quietly before bumping its nose against Agron’s chin. Agron tries to scowl, but Nasir sees through the expression easily.

“Foolish goats for a fool with little idea as to how to run a farm or raise animals,” Agron sighs, taking the goat from Nasir’s hands and setting it back down beside the others they are considering buying. “I suppose it is not the worst plan we have ever considered.” 

“No,” Nasir says, agreeing wholeheartedly. “There have been worse, far more foolish and with far less likelihood of success.” He can feel Agron heave a sigh and knows he has won. “Goats?” is all he says instead, turning his head up to catch Agron’s gaze, dark eyes dancing.

Agron huffs again. “Goats,” he says, not without some misgiving, but smiling nonetheless. The foolish goat bleats at their feet, nibbling at Agron’s sandals. “As if there were any other decision I could come to when your mind was set so.”

Nasir makes little effort to hide his smile in response. “As a free man, you are entitled to make any decision you wish,” he replies mildly, hand stroking over Agron’s side, skin warmed by an afternoon in the sun. 

“My mind,” Agron agrees, “is free to make any choice. My heart though,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Nasir’s temple, “has only one path.” Nasir smiles. “And that path,” Agron says, glancing down at their feet. “seems to involve goats.”

The foolish goat bleats his agreement.


	10. prompt: regency!AU

Mr. Nasir Hakim was… well, he was  _beautiful_ \- and astonishingly so, to the point where Agron had to struggle daily with the decision to toss the man from his house, because beloved dance instructor to his cousins or no, the temptation was becoming far too much for even The Right Honorable Earl of Albrecht to survive.

“Good morning, my lord,” Mr. Hakim murmured as he appeared at the breakfast table, his voice smooth and cultured, his lips quirked up in a painfully intimate smile that Agron had to fight not to stare at, not to want to taste. “Are you well?”

_Not in the slightest,_  Agron wished to answer, imagining citing Mr. Hakim’s bright eyes and the soothing sound of his voice and the haunting desire to bury hands into the soft strands of Mr. Hakim’s hair. “Fine, thank you,” Agron grunted instead, burying his face into the paper like the utter coward he was.


	11. prompt: soccer!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three separate requests for soccer aus, so three ficbits in all

1.

“Oi,” Agron hissed loudly from across the locker room, raising his eyebrows and making a face that Nasir supposed he was to interpret into actual human language - but not even secretly hooking up with Agron regularly meant that Nasir understood his weirdness anymore than anyone else did. “I think you grabbed my-” but before Agron could clarify his eyebrow olympics into full sentences, Nasir was startled by Gannicus’s booming laughter, drawing the rest of the team’s attention to them.

“I think someone tried to pack up their kit bag in the dark,” Gannicus teased with a smirk, plucking at the collar of the too-small jersey Agron had half pulled on before stopping - a jersey that Nasir recognized, with a mild sinking feeling, as his own.

* * *

 

2.

When Spartacus returns to the field - his injury determined nothing more than a flare up of the perpetual shoddy knee he’s been dealing with for a year or so - Agron jogs over to him, his hand already lifting to tug the captain’s armband off and return it to its rightful place on Spartacus’ upper arm.

To be honest, with Spartacus off the field, it should have never even come to Agron - instead, it should have gone to Crixus, the next senior-most member of the team - but Crixus had been sent off with a red card last game, leaving Agron next in line.

“Keep it,” Spartacus says firmly, gesturing Agron back to his place in the midfield. Agron mouths wordlessly for a moment, the armband already half off and dangling in his fingers. He wasn’t precisely captain material - too abrupt, too quick to act - the armband was  _meant_  for Spartacus, there was no way- "Agron, just wear the damn thing,“ Spartacus interrupts Agron’s thoughts with a grin, forcibly nudging Agron away. "It’s your team now, Cap.”

As Agron trots back to his place, already imagining what dumb shit the commentators are saying about that exchange, he passes by Nasir, who stops him briefly as the whistle blows to pause play.

Nasir tucks the armband higher up Agron’s arm, letting his fingers linger as they adjust the elastic. He beams up at Agron. “Don’t fuck up, Captain,” he says with a laugh, before sending Agron back off with a slap to his ass. “We’re counting on you.”

“Fuck off,” Agron calls back, a grin creeping across his face.  _Captain Agron Schmidt,_  he thinks carefully, quietly even in his own mind.  _Doesn’t sound half bad._

* * *

 

3.

“That was stupid,” Nasir says, the moment Agron slides onto the bench beside him, the adrenaline and fury in his veins making him jittery. Nasir lays a hand against Agron’s twitching fingers and squeezes tightly, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Agron disagrees.

The moment Nasir hit the ground and did not immediately get back up, Agron was concerned - Nasir  _doesn’t_  dive, refuses to, in fact, and takes offense at any accusation otherwise. He always says that there’s enough drama within the club, there’s no need for him to add more while on the pitch. He gets called a boy scout for his honesty, but Agron knows it is Nasir’s fervent belief in the beautiful game that keeps him upright. And so when Nasir was laying on the pitch as Tiberius towered over him, yelling at the ref about how  _he hardly touched him_ , Agron knew he’d been hit.

So Agron went for Tiberius. Duro got a hold of him before he’d landed a hit, but Agron still got a yellow for his trouble - his second of the tournament.

“I had to,” Agron murmurs, knees bouncing even as Nasir holds his hands still. “Little prick deserved it.” He doesn’t look at Nasir, doesn’t mention the fear Agron had felt seeing Nasir on his back on the field, doesn’t talk about the fervent desire he has to check Nasir’s injury or fetch him water. He just sits and fidgets and waits.

Nasir’s hand squeezes Agron’s again, more gently this time. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I still think it was stupid, but thank you.”

Agron smiles.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this is the last of 'em floating around in the tumblr abyss, so i'm going to tentatively mark this collection "done" - but like, no promises. :) thanks for checking these out and please feel free to leave a comment telling me which ones you liked. also, if you have any interest at all in writing in one of these verses, PLEASE please do so; that would make my lifeee.
> 
> fanks xoxox


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